As he shut the door firmly behind him, immune to Maureen’s tearful begging, he’d closed that part of his life forever. He didn’t even give her his new address, as Paul knew she would only give it to his dad. Instead, he kissed her on the cheek, told her he would call her, and left his parents’ house without even a backward glance. It was only when he went back a few months later, the first time he’d paid a visit since leaving, that he learned his mother was in hospital.

A stroke.

Found her last week. Nothing to be done.

Didn’t even know until it was too late.

His father’s slurred words from his armchair reached Paul’s ears in a vacuum. What the hell was he talking about? When he saw the tears roll down his father’s cheeks he knew it wasn’t just a drunken ramble but a reality that Paul had in no way prepared for. Paul had started to shake, the disgust of his own actions staining his soul. He’d left his mother in her final months with nothing more to look forward to than the odd two-minute phone call. He felt his own tears spill and a silent but hopeful part of him wondered if his father would reach out to him. Just for a moment, amongst all the brutality, he would feel the comfort of his own flesh and blood. And if Bill had, perhaps it would have been enough to prevent what happened next.

But then again, perhaps nothing could have prevented the inevitable confrontation between father and son. With Maureen’s illness, the precarious family triad had finally buckled, releasing an avalanche of testosterone as Paul and Bill dealt with the news in the only way they knew how.

With every punch, Paul learnt how his father had never wanted marriage and children so soon in his life; in fact, Bill had had his own plans but Maureen had got knocked up and Bill had done the right thing. And as Paul lay back on the couch, nursing a burst lip, he realised his mother wasn’t a coward, just someone who was paying for a mistake. As his father continued his verbal stream of resentment and fury, Paul heard the words that he himself had been thinking since he’d heard of his mum’s stroke.

‘She did everything for you and how did you repay her?’ snarled his father, leaning in so close Paul could smell his sour breath. ‘By shaming her with that fucking fiasco with that girl. You know people would call your mother names in the street? She couldn’t take it. It’s your fault she’s ill – years of harassment because of your actions – it’s almost killed her.’

At the truth of it, Paul vomited, the grey sludge spraying his father’s shoes.